interstellar5555 | 'Cause I'm Lonely and I'm Blue

Entry tags:

'Cause I'm Lonely and I'm Blue

Who: Frisk, Connie, Greg, Papyrus, and Sans
What: Rescuers rescue the kidnapped rescuer of kidnapped
When: April 20
Where: Wave Boulevard Mall, Spooky Virgo Torture Dungeon
Warnings: mention of serious violence at the least

It's been a week since Sans smuggled his fellow musicians from Virgo, contacted allies to let them know he was leaving... and then evidently vanished altogether. It's been two days since articles surfaced talking about his wild bender that ended him up in rehab, and isn't it a shame, let's all keep him in our thoughts.

Sans didn't ever have a whole lot of fans. The guy kept to himself, rarely made appearances, and generally only performed just well enough to justify being in the band in the first place. His legacy would likely be the toc-tic pun memes that would go around for a couple weeks, then fade out into obscurity. People wouldn't miss him.

It's pretty much all that's been on Greg's mind. His friend made a heroic effort, and paid for it. It's his fault. But life goes on, right?

So here he is. Buying flowers for his bedroom. To liven the place up, you know? Add some color, to contrast the blackened char left behind by giant laser blasts. It'll really brighten things up.

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From somewhere behind Greg, there's a quiet horrified noise.

Unlike him, she hadn't even really known the word. She hadn't known how bad it would get. All her idly annoyed thoughts of the scientists trying to trick them- they fly right out the window as she comes into the room. Somehow, the fact that he's just a skeleton makes everything more horrifying. All his cracks and stillness make her go cold.

Behind her, Lion gives a low displeased rumble.

The way it shakes her down to her bones snaps Connie out of it. "Is- is he okay!?"

A torture chamber.

That's what they walked into. There was no other way around it.

Sure, it didn't look like the point was inflicting harm for the sake of inflicting harm. Sans still had his hands, his feet. All his fingers and toes. He was full of sciency-looking things, not stuffed in an iron maiden.

But those fractures in his ribs... his knee, his eyesocket... Somebody here sure didn't avoid hurting him.

"H-he is still alive," Papyrus confirms. But... how much longer could he handle being like this? Their blue attacks didn't do anything for healing people. And Sans never had much stamina to begin with.

"He's still alive! And we just need to get this stuff out of him... without hurting him, any further. Then... We must be able to figure something out. There's ways of healing hurt people!"

Frisk expected this.

Not exactly this, maybe, but something about this bad. Monsters are so breakable. Alphys did terrible things to them without even meaning it, and the people here do mean it. Even more than Frisk themself ever did.

They've never seen cracked bones before, not their own and certainly never their friends'. They've seen Sans's soul broken more than his body. That was worse in its way, but much less ugly, and they make a low distressed sound in the back of their throat, glancing sharply up at Papyrus before turning away again.

Their words have left them, drowned out by the growing pit in their chest. Frisk just purses their lips and whistles between their teeth for attention. Reaching for their food stash is an instinctual action, and this time they go as deep in as they can, appearing to dip their arm into their phone nearly to the shoulder before pulling out...an intact slice of pie on a plate? They tilt it, examining, before holding it up to Papyrus. That's the best food they have: it helped them a lot when they fought Dad.

Meanwhile Mr. Universe is making his best effort to keep focused on one thing at a time: Frisk and Papyrus are going to know better how to heal him, so he needs to work on how to get him out of this death trap.

"When the skeleton suffers an awful fright,
When the skeleton suffers an awful fright,
When the..."

At first it's a faint mutter, as if Greg's trying to jog his memory. The dim lights attached to Sans begin pulsing in rhythm, slow and wary.

"I'm working to get you free,
How's the safest way to get you free...?
Tell the Universe what you need
Tell the Universe how he can get you free...."

Thr last word extends to a whining pitch, metal bonds popping loose from Sans' ribs one by one.

Edited 2016-04-23 05:03 (UTC)

The device drops free from his ribs, the white light suddenly flaring and then fading out a moment later, the energy within seeming to disperse back into his body. Sans tenses with a sudden urgency, his wrists jerking against their bonds with his first real sign of life. There is a shocked shudder through his bones, something soft like a whimper being the only sound he makes.

Papyrus looks around them at Frisk's whistle, thinking it's a heads up that somebody's coming. But no, they're still the only people in the room. And there's no footsteps that he can hear. Then he sees the offered food and he understands. "Oh! Frisk! You still had one of those 'pie' things? Sans loves those, that will surely help!"

But before he takes it, to break pieces off and feed to Sans' unconscious and definitely not dead body, Sans starts to move.

"Sans! Are you awake? Here, Frisk brought some food, and," Papyrus notices the tugging on the restraints. Right. If he woke up restrained in a strange dark place after being hurt, he might not want anybody else feeding him either. He'd want to be freed to feed himself. And a few good bone barrages could break the table and restraints enough to get Sans moving.

But... With those fractures... his brother is already a little too fragile-looking. He might not even have a full hp left. "I know you're still trapped, but don't fear! We're getting you free! But... it might help if you eat something first."

Even though he is apparently at least semi-conscious, Sans doesn't seem to react to Greg's song or Papyrus's voice - only the physical sensation it had on his body. Though his joints stay tense, he stops moving again shortly after started, holding still in the way someone does when anticipating something to hurt. It seems possible that whatever is going on with the headset they have him wearing is blocking out more than just his sight.

That thing on his skull next. Let Sans see what's happening, let him know he's not alone, get whatever they're doing out of his head.

"I'm just making sure
They can't hurt you no more
I'll just be a moment
I'll just be an instant..."

His hands are working, miming little motions pulling plugs and wires and bindings loose from their lodging in Sans' head. It's halting, moving in little stops and starts while Greg's head throbs to his imagined beat.

He's running low on energy, sweat running in his eyes. But this song isn't over until Sans is free.

"That's IT!"

Greg makes a yanking motion, and the rod jammed through Sans' socket releases its hold.

"And they got you pie here!
We gotta get you out."

Everything comes as a shock. Sans isn't thinking coherently, or anything close to it, but up until now he's at least been assuming what is happening around him to an instinctive degree. It's not as if it's the first time that an unseen and unheard someone, or multiple someones, have moved him around or adjusted his restraints - either to add something new or to take him somewhere else and do...something worse.

That's exactly what he's anticipating this time too, though something deep down is reasoning hopefully that there's no way he'll survive something like what cracked his ribs again. There are two options: one, it's something that will hurt less, or two, they are going to kill him, intentionally or by accident, and he couldn't be more relieved. He'd asked as much of them days ago, or what feels like could have been weeks so far as his skewed inner clock understands. He'd tried to do it himself, with contemptible amounts of failure.

'It's still happening' and 'when is it going to end?' are the only two thoughts he's been capable of independently having in a while, but the feeling of having the headpiece pulled off suddenly raises a hundred new ones that seems to crash together and fall into a pile of useless clutter.

It is so very bright, and so incredibly loud. It hurts - but everything does.

The rod pulling out brings a mess of smaller probes out with it, tearing out of the magical field of his consciousness in a way that is thoroughly discombobulating. He doesn't see shapes or images, just light or dark, and sockets remain empty as his eye focuses struggle to reform functionally. He clenches his teeth so tight he feels like they might break, and finds that his head is capable of moving a small amount.

It's overstimulating to an impossible degree and the sensory information pools formlessly into his mind as he shuts his eyes and shakes his head in a confused panic.

Edited 2016-04-23 22:26 (UTC)

Fortunately, Frisk still has the pie. It doesn't seem like Sans is willing to eat any, being too upset to realize they're there yet. But there's a clear pattern going on here. The more Greg sings his song, the more he pulls all those things off, the better Sans is getting. Already he's starting to move again, instead of that awful stillness.

So, clearly, the next step is getting more of that crap off. Quickly.

Hurting people is one thing, and no good if it's not a fair fight where they have the chance to fight back. Breaking an awful table/bed thing, with arm restraints and leg restraints and a collar around his brother's neck? That's something else entirely. The right and fair thing to do here is to break it all so Sans can move again.

Papyrus summons a swarm of bones, directing them in a barrage to smash and shatter the table near Sans' arms. He directs them closer to the restraints themselves, breaking them so they come loose.

"Sans! Can you answer us yet?"

With the fragile state Sans is in... it's too dangerous, even for the great Papyrus, to break it all in one go. He really needs to eat something, get himself healing sooner.

With all of Greg's magic and Papyrus' impressive use of bone swarms, there's not much for a tiny swordsgirl to do. You can't fight post traumatic stress disorder with a sword. So, instead, as everyone hustles about, Connie whirls around on her heel to grab Lion's fur.

"Lion! Be our sentry, okay? She's coming and we need to know when!" And hopefully, while more noticeable, a giant pink lion will fare better against this mystery woman while the rest of them are busy. As he settles into place, Connie quickly sweeps her eyes around the rest of the lab. She hadn't been able to take in the rest of it- Sans' horrific situation had knocked her off balance. Now, however, she quickly hurries over to the strange crystals. Focusing on other things will help keep her from being so shaken up.

What are these? Who knows! But they seem too important to let Virgo keep. Slipping off a sneaker and flipping open her messenger bag, Connie starts knocking the crystals into her bag with the shoe.

What? You don't touch strange mystical artifacts with your bare skin.

Oh, that's much worse.

The overstimulated panic of before is shoved to the wayside in favour of absolute mental pandemonium. Despite having been eager to embrace death in a general sense, instincts still manage to get in the way when a situation so violently demands fight or flight. He'd been incapable of connecting the dots of the situation before - he hadn't realized what had changed. But now, whether or not he understands it is irrelevant, because the deepest parts of him are reaching out for the only way he knows how to save himself from more pain.

And with that crushing weight off of his chest, and his soul, his magic is capable of answering this time - but not without its costs.

Sans vanishes from the machine, only to be wrenched out of his shortcut a mere moment later, collapsing into a pile of fragile, shaking bones several feet away. He's taken the collar with him, and its disruption comes in the form of a sickening amount of pain all throughout his spine and his skull. A pair of fingers end up slipped around the collar, frivolously trying to pull it away from himself as if to reduce its effect, while his other arm folds around his chest like he's just trying to hold himself together.

He curls on the floor, making a wretched sound through his teeth. The back of the collar has an extension that looks as if it's been set into the spaces between his cervical vertebrae.

One minute, Papyrus is still working on breaking the table to break Sans free of those bonds. The next minute, Sans isn't even there anymore. At least it proves Papyrus' theory that getting all that crap off his brother is more helpful than harmful, if Sans reached the point of being able to move like that.

But it's also terrible, because how can they rescue someone who teleported away? He whirls around, knowing Sans might have gone anywhere. What if he's out of sight in another part of the labs, or in another building altogether? Lion's not a dog, he might not be able to track by scent---there Sans is.

Curled up on the ground. Making the worst sound he's ever heard his brother make. This... this can't go on.

Papyrus crouches beside him, And no wonder, he wasn't quite free yet! That collar was still there, and somehow rooted into his spine? These music scientists are the worst. "Okay, this looks bad... but we just need to get this collar off of you. And that other thing out from under it. And then you'll be free of all that stuff!"

Does the collar have an obvious locking mechanism, like a number pad, or card reader, or keyhole, or something? Papyrus could surely break it with another volley of bones, but Sans just looks so fragile that he'd rather make that his second plan.

How is that he can feel like he's dying for so long without it actually happening? Sans can only assume the transition has to be worse than anything afterwards. It's not the first time he's felt the bite of this device by far, and every time it's made him feel like he's on death's door.

Papyrus can manage to get a look at the collar without any interference from Sans at this point. The closest thing to a locking mechanism appears to be a very small button hole in the center of the back of his neck, that could be pushed in by anything long and thin enough. There is likely a specific tool for doing this, but on the other hand, anything of the right size would probably do.

The migraine overtook Greg's brain as soon as the device released from Sans' skull. The next thirty or so seconds were lost in a white-hot lance of pain. The room's too bright and the noises too loud. His vision blurs, fades, buzzes.

When Greg starts pulling himself together he's leaning heavily against the wall, covered in sweat and limbs made entirely of lead. He pushed himself too far on too little magic.

Slowly, he falls back on the rule he'd set up: one thing at a time. Sans. That collar's not coming off with magic, so it's time to get conventional.

With great effort, Greg pulls out the tiny plastic flag on a little wire labeling his flowerpot "snapdragon." He holds it out. "This'll do, right?"

That hole looks promising. Like a reset button, and they certainly want to reset that collar off of Sans. Maybe even, if they were feeling especially vindictive, reset it onto one of those scientists?

...Nah. But the hole's a little too small for a bone. If only he had a really old-fashioned cellphone, the antenna could be re-purposed for this very easily. Heck, a pen would do the trick.

He looks over at Greg's question, and lights up at the sight of the plastic flag and its wire. "That will do very well! A very unconventional sort of lockpick... but I can make this work!."

It's almost absurdly easy to poke the wire into the hole, and hope for the best.

It takes a couple moments of pressing, but then the locking mechanism makes an audible whirring sound and the hinge peeks open in the back - enough for it to be to be easily removed, if not for its attachment to the spine. That, with some careful coaxing, can be pulled out with one smooth movement - like pulling out an IV. Except in this case, it's several thin needles poking in between the bones.

It's unclear what's going through Sans's head at this point. He just seems to be lying there shaking again, though he'll retch softly as the device pulls out. It should be obvious, what's going on around him, but none of it is sinking in like it should.

Edited 2016-04-25 20:02 (UTC)

Connie seems to have the whole weird glowing crystal thing in hand, so Frisk doesn't bother going to offer her help. They're much more occupied with Sans.

Setting the pie down on the floor, they kneel by Papyrus while he works the collar from Sans's neck. In any other circumstance, they'd let Papyrus handle this alone. Granted, they'd rather he weren't witnessing this at all...but Sans is his brother. This ought to be the most comforting things possible.

But it won't be. They remember how he got just about hearing Papyrus's name. It won't help anything at all. Besides, they've done this before - loss of soul is different from this, but maybe not so different. They lean forward to place a gentle hand on Sans's shoulder bone, which they deem the safest place. "Sans?"

Everything is terrible, but at least there's brains involved. Papyrus puts the flag aside, and carefully eases off the collar and its metal roots with it. It takes a wiggle or two to get all the needles free, and Papyrus feels a little like retching too... but they slip out of his spine, and then it's done.

His brother is free, but he doesn't seem to realize everything's better. Just sitting there, shaking... instead of looking around at them, expressing surprise or cheer at seeing them. Maybe he needs a little coaxing. "Okay, I think that's everything. Frisk, do you still have that pie? Maybe now's a better time."

Frisk glances up at Papyrus, then nods. The pie's right here. The only problem, really, is that Sans is in no condition to eat it. They don't want to force pie down his throat (or whatever), and that's even if they knew how to get his mouth open. Which...they're not sure about.

Instead, they just take the pie and hold it out to Sans. It's Toriel's pie; he knows this. She bakes it all the time. They've done a lot of reading online about memories lately. In humans, smell is very closely linked to remembering things, like how Frisk feels when they smell golden flowers. They can't say if it's the same for skeletons, but it literally can't make things worse.

Sans.

It’s like he can hear it being spoken by several voices at once, across time and space, as lurking memories approach the surface. He recognizes the smell, but for a moment he isn’t really sure how. It reminds him of Tori – the Tori he knew here – the one he’d only started getting to know in person before she was snatched away like so many others. Except, it isn’t just that, is it?

There’s so much more to be remembered, there. Stuff that’s real, and stuff that maybe isn’t – like multiple facets of the same string of events, possibilities that were always there but, for whatever reason, never came to be. He remembers her baking as a constant throughout all of them. He remembers snow and stone doors.

He reaches his hand up to his shoulder and seems to only incidentally bump it into Frisk’s, as if he wasn’t sure what the sensation was coming from at first. He remembers something about that, too, though he can’t quite put it to words, even in his mind.

His right eye has finally started to reform enough that he can see shapes and colors, and he slowly turns his head back towards the two of them like he’s beginning to take in their presence for the first time. He sags onto his back, exposing the damage done to his ribs, and shudders with a sob. He’s never been one to cry about anything, but it comes on now like something inexorable, tears somehow coming from his empty sockets in some kind of realization or grief.

The hazy white light of his eye settles on Papyrus for only a moment before the sound becomes despairing, and he shakes his head slowly. Something is still latching onto him, telling him that he’s not supposed to talk. If he does, they’ll probably just hurt him and gag him again. Yet, he softly babbles the words anyway.

“I couldn’t...”

There's nothing Greg would like more than to go to his friend and comfort him. He'd be just as happy to hold back and let his family care for him. Past that, however, what he needs is to make sure that Sans doesn't get caught again. He can't go back onto that table, or another like it. And the rest of them, too... He can't imagine Frisk or Connie bearing pain like this. The very notion makes him sick.

Lion stands ever vigilant at the door, but Greg seriously doubts they'll get enough warning if Juno or even Blanche decide to warp in. They have to move while the chance is there.

"Guys..." He speaks softly, but there's an urgency in it. His voice is raspy, both from the magical and emotional drain from watching Sans like this. "We gotta get him out of here. Right now."

Edited 2016-04-26 18:13 (UTC)

What is Sans trying to say? He's obviously still upset, and... trying to apologize? But what for? Because he couldn't leave? Because he couldn't remember? All this time he's been trapped in this place, and before that he was kidnapped and 'brainwashed,' and generally without the ability to get out and do his own thing. For once, Sans has genuinely good (if awful) reasons for not doing things.

"I know you couldn't remember! That's not your fault, I promise," Papyrus reassures him, then looks over at Greg. "He's still very... fragile. A little frighteningly so?"

But Greg's probably right. If they stay here, what if the scientists captured everybody? They're not playing fair at all, they'd probably put them all in torture chairs! So there's nothing for it.

"Nyeh... I'm sure everything will work out okay!" Papyrus clasps his brother's shoulder. "Sans! Can you stand yet? Or should I carry you?"

Sans looks in Greg’s direction when he speaks, his pupil sharpening with recognition. Greg is there, holy shit. For this entire time, Sans hasn’t known what happened to his friend – whether or not his reckless attempts got Greg taken away too. It took this long to get through to him, but it’s becoming more and more clear. Greg came to get him out.

He feels a sharp pulse of something in his chest, like a heartbeat.

He shifts like he wants to get up, but he obviously can’t. His right knee is visibly broken, and though it’s hard to tell with the lack of ligaments, it isn’t hanging off of his thigh bone right. He looks up at Papyrus and Frisk helplessly, only half comprehending the situation but understanding that they have to get out now.

“I can’t...” He closes his eyes, a fresh bead of tears going down a cheek bone. “Fuck.”

It's painful to look at Sans' knee, or the tears trickling out of his eyesockets. Painful... but a relief, too. Finally, he's finally responding to them. He's injured, and some things are still terrible, but Sans is in there. Looking like himself and talking. That's so much better than things were this time yesterday.

"It's not a disaster or anything! Here, I'll carry you," and Papyrus crouches down to get his arms under Sans'. "Almost like going home from Grillby's, some nights! ...You might not remember that yet. But you will!"

There's still the question of how they're going to stay on Lion's back like this. It was hard enough with four people, and Greg powering those vines as seatbelts around everyone. But now that Greg's exhausted himself, and Papyrus' hands are full... They'll make it work. Somehow. They have to.

'Cause I'm Lonely and I'm Blue

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CW: suicidal ideation

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